


Let's Talk About Sex

by lemoncellbros



Series: Sherlock [18]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, M/M, POV John Watson, Sherlock Holmes Makes Deductions, Unresolved Sexual Tension, but it gets resolved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25193038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemoncellbros/pseuds/lemoncellbros
Summary: John and Lestrade have a conversation about sex on one of their weekly walks. Lestrade brings up Sherlock. John goes home, trying (and failing) not to think about Sherlock.
Relationships: Molly Hooper/Greg Lestrade (mentioned), Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Sherlock [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1797916
Kudos: 78





	Let's Talk About Sex

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all this is the very first fic I've written with slightly sexual content and MY GOD it was an ordeal to write. I hope you enjoy it though

It happens on a walk with Lestrade. Simple enough. They go for one every Wednesday, to talk and rant and, usually, get buzzed on beers at the pub afterwards. They're talking about sex-Greg and Molly have been seeing each other recently-and how they learned about it all. Something Greg said about his primary school education sparked the conversation. Greg asks his friendly question:  
"So where did you learn it all, if you didn't get the videos and the charts?"  
And John answers without thinking about it, without even questioning how it might sound.  
"I learned most of it from Sherlock."  
John can see, in the second after he says it and before Greg responds, Greg's eyes widening and lips parting into a small "oh", like something he's known for a while has been confirmed. John means, of course, that Sherlock has cases that require sexual knowledge sometimes, and, after finding that John was utterly inept at the subject, Sherlock decided to educate him with books and logistics and statistics. But Lestrade doesn't know that.  
"Wait, have you two-"  
"No! God, no. Jesus Christ." John spots doubt in Greg's eyes. "He told me about it once for a case. That's it."  
Greg nods, though there's still suspicion in his face, and continues on the conversation. The thing is, though, John can't forget it.  
Five hours later, at his desk and typing up another case, he can't forget about it. The implication in Lestrade's tone. The brief image conjured up in John's head.  
Despite popular belief, John isn't gay. And even if he was, Sherlock is his best friend. He would never, ever-even if he wanted to-  
But his brain won't let it go. And he can't get rid of the idea that Lestrade thinks that that could be their life. The idea that all this time, he and Sherlock could be in a room, breathing and touching and-  
No. No. Sherlock is his best friend. He can't.  
"Something's bothering you."  
Shit.  
Sherlock is seated in his chair, drinking tea and watching reality television critically. Now, he's turned his gaze to John.  
"I'm fine, Sherlock." He won't turn around.  
"You're lying. Your breathing has been erratic for the past ten minutes, and you keep squeezing your eyes shut."  
"It's nothing."  
"You're a terrible liar."  
John turns to tell Sherlock to leave him alone, but the minute he does, Sherlock is blinking rapidly and appraising him.  
"What?"  
"You're blushing."  
Shit. (Again). John gets out of his chair and walks quickly to the kitchen, hoping Sherlock won't notice how he's walking.  
"You want any tea?"  
"Yes, please, thank you."  
"What kind? "  
John turns, and Sherlock is right there, looking him up and down and analysing. John refuses to meet his eyes.  
"We've talked about this, Sherlock. Personal space, remember?"  
Sherlock's eyes widen.  
"You went on a walk with Lestrade today."  
"Yes, I told you that."  
"You've been acting strange since you came home."  
John sighs and turns his attention back to the kettle. "Two sugars?"  
Sherlock is still scanning, processing for information. "What did you talk about?" He says it more to himself than to John, but he still answers.  
"Friend things."  
"Oh." Sherlock stops analysing and adds a bit of honey to his tea, then snaps back to John. "Like what?"  
"Like…" John wills his mind to think. "Soccer."  
"You prefer rugby."  
"How-" John won't let himself overthink that little detail Sherlock seems to recall without even thinking. "Nevermind. Lestrade likes soccer. Sometimes we have to make sacrifices for our friends."  
"Wait." Sherlock is making his 'mind palace' face, eyes flitting quickly over information that John can't see. "Lestrade and Molly are dating now."  
He says it as though it's a question.  
"Yes, Sherlock, they are." John finishes with his tea and goes to sit on the couch. Sherlock is getting far too close to the truth. But there hasn't been a case in weeks, and Sherlock is bored, so he's making deductions and following John around the living room like he's a serial killer he's trying to figure out.  
"You didn't know that until today. You talked about that with him. Not the dating part, though, no. Gavin's not a sentimental man."  
Sherlock squints. John clears his throat and sips his tea.  
"They're having sex. Is that what you talked about?"  
John doesn't answer. He doesn't need to.  
"Yes, that's it. What about sex has got you all worked up?" Now Sherlock has his hands on the coffee table, leaning in to John's face as though he's trying to dig up his memories and transfer them to his own head.  
John grits his teeth. "Sherlock. Personal space."  
Sherlock doesn't move. Then, he claps his hands and jumps back to his feet. He turns and points at John triumphantly, looking as though he's solved the world's most difficult murder.  
"You like Molly."  
John coughs, and his tea splashes around a bit in his mug. "What? No, I don't."  
Sherlock frowns. "You must. That's the only solution."  
"Wrong." John places his mug on the coffee table and goes to check the fridge. "Did you really not do the shopping while I was out?"  
Sherlock collapses into his chair, obviously put out. "What, then?"  
"I'm not telling you."  
Sherlock scrunches his eyebrows together. "Why not?"  
John turns to face him, trying to avoid looking at places other than Sherlock's face. He's wearing that damn purple shirt today. "Because I don't want to, Sherlock."  
Sherlock sits up. Considers. "It's about me."  
"It's really not." John feels tension spike through him and straighten his spine. Sherlock's going to figure it out.  
Sherlock stands and walks closer to John. John tries not to panic. He's done this a million times, stood next to Sherlock. They're friends. It's not a big deal.  
"Lestrade said something to you about me. Involving sex. And now you're acting strange and breathing in little bursts." Right when John thinks he's about to meet his doom, Sherlock's phone gets a text message.  
But not just any text message.  
The text message.  
And just like that, John feels something in the pit of his stomach curl with anger.  
"You're still texting her."  
"John, as I've told you before, she is texting me. I never respond." Sherlock rolls his eyes, and John can feel a bit of white-hot flame flare up in his chest.  
"Then why is she still texting you? Most people would give up, wouldn't they?" John stomps over to Sherlock's phone and picks it up. Reads it.  
I miss you. Let's have dinner.  
This time, John can feel his entire spine coil tightly. "She misses you."  
"Don't be ridiculous, John."  
"Oh, am I being ridiculous?" John waves the phone in the air, feeling heat rush to his face with contempt. "She's texted you once every three months for the past year. She likes you. And you're letting her!"  
Sherlock narrows his eyes quizzically. "Why wouldn't I let her?"  
"Because you're obviously not interested, otherwise you would text her back!" John feels a bit of air leave his body. His eyebrows are narrowed, his shoulders are tense, and his hands are curled into fists. Sherlock steps straight into John's personal space-despite the lectures-and takes the phone out of his hand. Then, his entire face widens-his eyes, his mouth, his jaw. John knows that face. It's his realisation face.  
Fucking shit.  
"Oh." Sherlock tilts his head, reassessing. "You like me."  
John won't answer. Can't. He stares at a tiny spot to the right of Sherlock's head. Sherlock is still evaluating. He puts a hand on John's shoulder, and John inhales sharply. Sherlock places his hand against John's cheek and, experimentally, draws his thumb against his jaw. John's shoulders tense. His lips close as tight as he can force them to. Sherlock smirks, barely.  
"You like me a lot."  
"Sherlock." John steps back, but Sherlock's hand follows him. "Personal space."  
Sherlock isn't listening. He's experimenting. He runs his fingers through the short hairs at the back of John's scalp. Without thinking, John leans into the touch, his eyelids fluttering. Inside, his brain is screaming at him to stop. This is a bad idea. He shouldn't be letting Sherlock do this.  
But he is.  
Sherlock lets his hand float down to John's waist, then pulls him in quickly. John's eyes snap open, and he can feel his heart drumming out panic in his chest. Sherlock is watching every single expression or flicker of emotion he can find in John's face. He leans down, closer. John feels like his whole body might explode if Sherlock touches him again. His eyes, seemingly of their own will, flit down to Sherlock's lips. Sherlock notices.  
Fuck.  
John feels Sherlock's hand pull him closer. Watches Sherlock lean in, lips parting slightly. And John, regretfully and stupidly, closes his eyes.  
The kiss is another experiment. John knows that. Sherlock is trying everything, seeing how things affect John differently. He pulls and bites and makes little noises, all to see what happens. John knows this. He doesn't care. After a few minutes of breathing and sighing, Sherlock pulls away. John feels like he could shatter completely if someone so much as poked him.  
"Is this what you and Lestrade talked about?"  
And just like that, John remembers that Sherlock is answering a question.  
"You prick." John pushes Sherlock off of him (not enough to hurt him, but enough to let him know that he's not happy). "You really did all that just to solve a case?"  
Sherlock blinks. "Well, yes. Actually, it was very helpful in allowing me to learn more about your sexuality, John. I've always thought you were bisexual, and that certainly confirms it. I must thank y-"  
John has shoved Sherlock against the wall. Something dangerous is sparkling and cracking and popping through the veins in his body. Sherlock looks like there's been a fault in his hypothesis. John kisses him. Hard. Hands and lips and breath. And, John notes, Sherlock reciprocates. Wraps an arm around his neck and presses in closer. Hell, he even sighs a little. John moves from his mouth to his jaw, kissing along the skin and feeling the sharp bone underneath. Sherlock's eyes flutter shut, and John huffs out a small laugh. He pulls away abruptly, and Sherlock's entire face has turned a pale shade of pink. John notes with a hint of satisfaction that his curls are no longer perfect.  
"Thanks for that, Sherlock. Great to know you're gay." He says sarcastically, an ice-cold bite in his tone. Sherlock pulls himself off of the wall and straightens his shirt.  
"I would've assumed that was obvious."  
"Hold on a minute, that's not all." John smiles as Sherlock turns to face him, looking apprehensive.  
"Oh, really?"  
"Yes." John grins, and says, in a mimicry of Sherlock's baritone, "You like me. A lot."  
Sherlock's ears turn a little more pink. "I-"  
"Don't deny it. No man kisses his best friend like that, even if it is just for an experiment."  
Sherlock huffs. "Fine, yes."  
"Good." John smirks a little and walks up to Sherlock, grazing his hand ever so slightly against his ridiculous purple shirt. "Congratulations, Sherlock Holmes, you've officially drawn me out of the closet. Now, come on."  
Sherlock's eyebrows furrow together. "Where are we going?"  
"I'm going to show you exactly what Lestrade and I talked about."

**Author's Note:**

> Congratulations, you made it to the end. I'll be on my way with what's left of my dignity


End file.
